


Chasing Love, With a Monster

by ArchOfImagine



Series: The Sidekick [1]
Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Avengers - Freeform, Avengers fusion, Dom Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Dom/sub Undertones, Kinda, Lute the Lute, M/M, Mentions of Yennefer, Monster Hunters, Non-Consensual Body Modification, POV Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Pre-Slash, Roach the Car, Sub Jaskier | Dandelion, Tony Stark Cameo, mcu crossover, mentioned - Freeform, not graphically, superhero au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-02
Updated: 2020-03-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:00:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22992097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArchOfImagine/pseuds/ArchOfImagine
Summary: Geralt is an Avenger... maybe a bit begrudgingly. He helps them when they need him but would prefer to be anywhere but surrounded by a bunch of people. So he spends the majority of his time driving his beloved car, Roach, around the country and hunting monsters.One day an asshole with a lute walks into his bar and refuses to leave.Fuck.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: The Sidekick [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1652341
Comments: 14
Kudos: 134





	Chasing Love, With a Monster

**Author's Note:**

  * For [omgbubblesomg](https://archiveofourown.org/users/omgbubblesomg/gifts).



> I will admit to having very little Witcher knowledge beyond the tv show; to those that know all of it, I'm so sorry if I am stepping in your fandom and ruining it! I just saw these two assholes and had a random idea to make them Avengers?
> 
> Characterizations are firmly based on the show. I found out after writing that apparently Jaskier has a full name... and also thought it was a bit stupid, so I stuck with what I already had.
> 
> There will be a part two. Because someone has got to tell us if Jaskier has any damn powers or is just there to look pretty!

Despite being a solid member of the Avengers, Geralt was happiest when he was working alone. When a world catastrophe happened, he always answered the call, but as soon as everything was over, he was slipping back into the shadows.

Stark liked to say that he had daddy issues, which was pretty fucking rich coming from _Stark_. The only issue he had was sitting in a room surrounded by the other Avengers and pretending he belonged. He was a monster that hunted other monsters… he shouldn’t be handling publicity and kissing babies.

For the most part, people left him alone. It was probably the long white hair that made people see him and then immediately turn away. Even still, he liked to avoid staying in one area for long. Any extra time spent in a town would start rumors that he didn’t have the energy to deal with. 

He was in Jackson, Mississippi, hunting down a rougarou, when he met his ultimate nemesis.

See… to pay the bills and keep Roach, his dark brown '68 Chevelle, happily fed with gasoline, he usually had to work non-monster-hunting jobs in each town. In Jackson, he found a biker bar that needed a bartender. It was an easy enough gig for someone with his physique, because at least bikers wouldn't be afraid of him.

It was a mostly quiet Tuesday night when _he_ walked in. Skinny white boy, fluffy brown hair, daddy's college fund attire… and was that a fucking _lute_ on his back?!

Every stern faced gaze turned to look at him as he strode inside, happily smiling and waving at a few of the bikers. When he got to the bar, he sat down on a stool and grinned at Geralt. "Shirley Temple, if you please."

"No."

The grin turned into a pout, and it took every power Geralt possessed not to stare at those plump lips. "Sarsaparilla? Tom Collins? Sidecar? Manhattan?"

_"No."_

"Roy Rogers? Arnold Palmer?"

For fear of the obnoxious names going on forever, Geralt picked up a bottle of Jack Daniels and poured it in a tumbler with a shot of Coke. He pushed it across the bartop.

"Ah, Jack and Coke," the man said, "my favorite."

Mickey, the old man at the end of the bar, was looking for a refill, so Geralt happily left the insanity of the newcomer in favor of doing his job. To his surprise, the younger man never said another word… but he didn't leave, either. Instead, he sat on that same barstool, sipping at his one drink as the hours passed.

When it was finally time to close, the kid was the only one left in the bar. Geralt rolled his eyes and moved back over. "We're closed."

The man looked up and grinned. "Geralt, right? Of Rivia, Wyoming?"

_Fuck._ Geralt felt a chill run over his skin, and despite the fact that he knew the bar was empty… he still looked around for hidden enemies. Finally, he looked back across the bartop. "Stryker hiring college kids now?"

"What?" The kid looked incredibly confused. "Who’s Stryker?" He leaned forward and whispered, "Is he a bad guy?"

"How do you know who I am?"

"We went to school together!" The grin was back. "Jaskier Eliot. Well.. I was Jason then. Stupid name. Hard to fight crime as a _Jason._ People expect you to be an axe murderer."

Geralt suddenly had visions of a scrawny kid, three years younger than him, following him around a playground and talking non-stop. Apparently the kid hadn't changed much. "Go home."

"Can't."

He was not interested in Jason Eliot's sob story. "Then get out of my bar."

The kid stared at him a while before putting twenty dollars down and standing, walking out with his lute still carefully strapped to his back. 

Easier than expected. Geralt should have asked him to leave hours ago.

_Whatever._ Geralt finished his closing tasks and grabbed his jacket, before shutting off the lights and locking the front door. He was on high alert as he rounded the building to where Roach was parked… and still stopped in surprise at the sight of _Jaskier_ leaning against his car. "Fuck."

"I need your help."

"Go home, kid."

"As I've already said, I cannot go home. That is why I need your help."

Geralt stepped up to the car and growled at the kid, making him flinch away from the driver's door. "I'm on a job."

"Yes, the rougarou, right? Killed it." In addition to the lute on his back, Jaskier had also acquired a duffel bag that sat by his feet… apparently he had left that outside, before he entered the bar.

Still… " _You_ downed the rougarou."

"A week ago."

"A—" Geralt hissed in anger, looking over his shoulder towards the forest behind the bar. "I just got the call a _week_ ago."

"Right. From me. Through the grapevine. Do you know how hard it is to personally track down a witcher? Terrible, really. And Stark Industries will no longer accept my calls. I think I've been blacklisted."

Geralt grabbed the kid by his shirt collar and slammed him up against Roach. " _Who sent you?_ " he growled.

Jaskier flinched, but didn't tremble in fear like a lesser man would… had. "A djinn has my sister. Six months ago she brought a new man home, which wasn't new, I'll admit… but the dude was shady from the get-go." Geralt was halfway to rolling his eyes — because honestly, if the kid could apparently take down a rougarou, then a djinn was a slice of pie — when Jaskier continued. “This one’s in a pack. Twenty of them… took over the whole town. They knew I had abilities, so they tried to have me killed. I got away, but my sister won’t last much longer if they’re feeding from her. I need help.”

_Ugh._ “I don’t do charity,” he said, pulling away and letting the kid get back on his own two feet. The duffel bag was dropped at Geralt’s feet, open enough to show the cash inside. “Fuck.” He pointed at Roach’s passenger side. “Get in.”

* * *

“A guitar would attract more women.”

“Why do you think I chose a lute?”

_Fuck._

* * *

Geralt was not a fan of sleep, nor of roadside motels with dingy sheets. Usually he slept in Roach, while traveling, or in her shadow on the grass.

Unfortunately, Rivia, Wyoming was at the far reaches of the state, a blip on the map somewhere near Yellowstone. It was a twenty-seven hour drive, and he didn't trust his traveling companion with Roach's life. When they were forced to take a detour through Oklahoma, because of bad weather, he knew that he would reach even a witcher's limit for wakefulness.

"One. You have _one_ room, with _one_ bed?" 

The woman behind the counter of that particular Motel 6, looked more than happy to smile and reply, "It's the eighty-fifth annual pickle-chugging weekend.” 

“Pickle. Chugging. Weekend.” Gods, his head hurt. Did Captain America deal with the same bullshit that he did?

“Mayor makes a big to-do about it, gets bigger each year. I swear someone here said they were from Austria! Or was it Australia?” 

The woman’s midwestern twang was starting to make his ears bleed, and he just wanted a warm shower and something resembling a pillow. “We’ll just find somewhere else—”

“No vacancy in the whole county, I’m afraid.”

Geralt slid over his driver’s license and a frankly outrageous amount of money for _one bed_ , while mumbling another well needed _’fuck’_ under his breath. He loved Roach, but her air conditioning was being a bitch and he felt like he was coated in a layer of dust, after driving all day through farmlands. Not to mention the fucking humidity.

When he got back out to the car, Jason (because _Jaskier_ was about as stupid as _Geralt_ ) Eliot, was sleeping soundly, head mashed up against the passenger window. Like hell he was going to let the punk sleep in his sweet Roach overnight, but he also refused to carry him. 

He settled for knocking loudly on the window, startling the other man and… surprisingly making him reach for his lute, of all things. Like it was some kind of _weapon._ Idiot. “We’re here.”

It took twenty minutes for them to empty the car of all valuables and find their way to the third floor room with _one_ bed. Once inside, Jaskier placed his lute against the wall by the locked door, and promptly fell back asleep in a chair that looked older than he was. Whatever. Geralt dropped his go-bag on top of a well-used dresser and pulled out a change of clothes before moving to discover how terrible the shower was. 

When he got back out, feeling much cleaner and extremely exhausted, he was surprised to find that Jaskier was still sleeping awkwardly in the chair. Well.. to each their own. Geralt shut the lights off and tucked his favorite dagger under his pillow, before laying down and praying for sleep.

* * *

Geralt woke up five hours later with Jaskier Eliot wrapped completely around him like a baby koala snuggling for warmth. He tried to move, feeling grumbly and over sensitized to the touch. After Stryker got ahold of him, back when he was a runaway teenager, whatever they did to create and develop his abilities, had made touch almost unbearable. Especially skin-to-skin. Thankfully, he had fallen asleep with clothes on the night before, and Jaskier had one arm thrown over his t-shirt covered stomach, and a leg over his sleep pants. 

He took a breath, internalizing the pain and sensations before rolling his body in a maneuver that allowed him to slip out of the bed backwards.

In the shoddy light of the bathroom, he stared at the mirror and tried to see the seventeen year old kid that Jaskier remembered. 

It wasn't easy. Not only had he lived a rough life since then, but his body had changed immensely. Teenage Geralt had the barest minimum of superhuman abilities… strength and reflexes that were 150 percent better than the average human. He had left an abusive asshole of a father, ran without looking back, and stumbled directly into Stryker's clutches. One minute he was a horny teenager… the next he couldn't even touch himself because of the way it burned along all the sensitive nerve endings beneath his skin.

He had been turned into a monster. Only good for hunting other monsters.

* * *

He had never seen so many djinn nesting in one location. Jaskier had been right by saying that they had taken over the whole damn town. It took two days to clear it out… and despite the fact that Jaskier still claimed to have killed the damn rougarou on his own, Geralt never saw him do a damn thing against the djinn. Instead, Geralt went on a terror, sword swinging faster than the monsters could attack, and _Jaskier_ stood leaning against Roach and playing his fucking _lute_.

There was a very good damn reason why Geralt worked alone.

Whatever.

At the end of the forty-eight hour madness, Geralt left Jaskier at his sister’s house and drove away as fast as he could… hopeful that the younger man wouldn’t notice and try to do something stupid like _follow_. 

He was a few hours out, somewhere around Missouri, when Black Widow pinged his phone with an urgent need for his services. More Avengers work… _fun._

At least Stark was nice enough to send the quinjet and Happy, who was the only other human being in the world that Geralt trusted to drive Roach. _’Go on, go be a superhero, I’ll get her home safe.’_

The next two weeks were spent in Austria dealing with robots. Considering the fact that his main weapon of choice was a sword, he wasn’t quite sure why the Avengers always thought he would be a good choice for missions that could be handled more efficiently with a gun.

But Stark liked to give him a few dollars out of that stockpile he had in his bank account, whenever Geralt showed up to help, so at least he was being paid to chop off robot heads.

When the Avengers finally landed back at the compound in upstate New York, he was so exhausted that he didn’t even feel like pretending he didn’t want to be there. He didn’t, of course, but he also didn’t want to get in his car and run away as fast as possible. Stark was nice enough to set up an apartment there for him, way back when he became an actual member of the Avengers, so who was he to turn down a soft bed and an awesome shower?

He had been there for a day and a half, just long enough to start researching the next monster he wanted to take down, when FRIDAY alerted him to a visitor.

_”There is a man at the door who says he is here to see you. According to him, you are friends.”_

Geralt looked up from the map he was studying on his StarkPad and stared at the video footage that FRIDAY was displaying on his wall. It was the compound lobby… where Jaskier Eliot stood looking around in awe, his damn _lute_ on his back.

“Fuck.”

He did not have the patience to deal with Jaskier again. Once had been more than enough. “Tell him I’m not here.”

_”Unfortunately, he seems confident that you are here. Despite my efforts to tell him otherwise.”_

“Tell him to go away.”

_”He is especially insistent, sir.”_

“So? I don’t care. Call security or something. Tell Stark he has an intruder.”

_”Of course, sir.”_

The image disappeared, and Geralt stood, deciding that he might as well start packing up his things to get out of dodge as fast as possible.

He had his go bag slung over his shoulder and was escaping through the Avengers common area, on his path to the emergency staircase that would take him to the garage, when the elevator dinged, letting out the sound of laughter.

"Oh! Gary, just who we were coming to find!"

There was Stark… standing with his arm wrapped around Jaskier. 

"Fuck."

“You didn’t tell me you had a sidekick! How very Steve and Bucky of you.” Tony nudged his shoulder against Jaskier’s, “Make sure you get _all_ of the sidekick benefits.”

“I don’t know what that means,” Jaskier answered. “Thanks for the tour, Mr. Stark. I think Geralt and I better go, though. We have a few things to take care of in Maine, before the snow hits next weekend.”

“Oh, yeah.” Tony pulled away from Jaskier and clapped his hands together, before pointing at Geralt. “Wanna take the jet? Steve said you trained—”

“We’ll drive,” Geralt replied. Taking a quinjet would mean having to return it. If he drove, he could disappear until the next mission called him home. He turned his gaze on Jaskier, who didn’t even have the nerve to look apologetic. “Let’s go.”

“Sweet! I left my bag in Roach’s trunk.”

“You— what? How did you—” He rushed after Jaskier to the stairs. “You did _not_ touch Roach! Fuck!”

* * *

“Ghosts aren’t real.”

“Explain that to the folks living in this place.”

“I’m not a ghost hunter.”

“Sure, sure. But a job is a job, right? These people are paying for ghost hunters, so we’re ghost hunters.”

“There is no ‘we’.” 

“Sorry, sorry. Ghost hunter and his sword brandishing apprentice.”

“ _Ugh._ ”

* * *

Geralt closed his eyes and tried not to flinch. “Leave it alone. It’ll heal just fine in a day!”

“Shut up, Mr. Ghosts-Aren’t-Real.” Jaskier was sitting behind him on yet another worn out motel bed. That one, at least, had a second bed a few feet away. They had fought what could definitely be categorized as _ghosts_ and then found the first place with beds and a shower, still limping and licking their wounds. Geralt, it seemed, had fared the worst. At some point the spirit had slammed him against a wall, where an old nail was protruding just enough to cut a six inch length along the back of his shoulder. Jaskier had demanded the opportunity to clean it, worried about the rusty nail causing an infection. “You really should let me stitch this.”

“So we can cut it again tomorrow to dig out the stitches? No thanks.” 

A hand landed on his other shoulder, obviously trying to keep him still while Jaskier dabbed peroxide on the cut. Unfortunately, the touch of skin on skin hurt worse than the cut had, and he not only flinched, but hissed and tried to pull away.

“What—” Jaskier dropped his hand away. “Are you bruised there? It isn’t discolored—”

“I can’t…” God, why couldn’t this kid just leave him alone? Why had he shown back up at the compound? Geralt had saved his sister, their time together was supposed to be _over._ He stood, grabbing a clean shirt and quickly pulling it on. When he turned around, Jaskier still sat in the middle of the bed, looking down at the rag in his hand and frowning. _Fuck._ “Stryker… whatever they did to me… it changed me. Faster healing time came at the cost of touch. Skin-to-skin, even with clothing between, any touch to my body sparks a burning sensation. The longer it’s there, the sharper the pain.”

“Shit,” Jaskier breathed out. He set the cloth aside on the table between the beds, and turned so he was sitting and facing where Geralt stood near the tv. “Even your own touch?”

“Less so, but yes.” Geralt moved to the small minifridge, rooting around in the snacks they had bought before the ghost hunting.

“Can you—” he cut off, and even after a long pause, he didn’t finish his question. Finally, Geralt turned back, holding a GoGurt in his hand. At his raised eyebrow, Jaskier finally finished. “Masturbate?”

The kid had the audacity to blush. “No.”

_”Oh.”_

“Sex is… _different_ now.” Okay, maybe he kind of liked that blush. It was so rare to see Jaskier out of his element.

Even embarrassed, though, Jaskier still asked, “You’ve had sex? When it hurt?”

“No.” He carried his snack and a bottle of water over to the other bed, where he kicked off his shoes and rested back against the headboard. 

“But you said—”

“Desire and attraction are feeling in your mind, not your body. So when I struggled with the body aspect, I went looking to find pleasure in other forms.”

_”Huh.”_

The room was quiet, but Geralt could almost taste the curiosity flowing from Jaskier. Like words were sitting on the tip of his tongue and just begging to be set free. “I met a woman named Yennefer. Her business is pleasure, and she showed me how to find my own.”

“Oh!” Jaskier turned, sliding to the edge of his bed. His voice grew quiet, like they were sharing secrets, “A dominatrix?”

He turned to the younger man, one eyebrow raised. Jaskier Eliot seemed way too vanilla to know that term. “Yes.”

“What did she teach you?”

“Only my partners find out.”

* * *

“Shibari?”

“No.”

* * *

“Was it flogging? I bet it was flogging.”

“God damn it, Jaskier, do you even _see_ the massive sea creature in front of you?!”

“What? Oh! That guy? You’ve got this.”

“What the fuck are you even here for?”

* * *

“Roleplay?”

“Please stop.”

* * *

“I’ve got it!”

“No.”

“You didn’t even—”

“No.”

* * *

There were very few things in life that Geralt was afraid of. Nowhere on that list was _death_ , because when you spent your life in pain, death was more of a dream, than a nightmare. 

Unfortunately, that rule didn’t transfer over to Jaskier… because Geralt had found in a very sudden and intense way, that he was _truly_ afraid of Jaskier dying. Which was ridiculous… he had barely known the fool for three months! Not counting high school; and honestly, high school never counted.

So when he saw an enemy slam into Jaskier, his heart had dropped somewhere around his stomach, and he had lost all control. The rest of the enemies had been downed in a flurry, as he rushed to get to where Jaskier laid on the ground. 

Three hours later, he was still hovering a bit, now that they were back at the compound and the Avengers medical staff had given Jaskier the all-clear. He had a mild concussion and a few scratches, but was otherwise okay. Laying in Geralt’s bed and complaining of a headache… well, for the first time, Geralt was thankful that the punk had walked into his life. 

Even if he didn’t need a damn sidekick.

To be fair, it wasn’t like Jaskier ever did anything beyond coordinating missions and playing his damn lute while Geralt fought.

Geralt sat in the chair across from the bed, watching and knowing that Jaskier wasn’t actually asleep, despite his eyes being closed.

“Domination without touch,” Geralt spoke. Jaskier blinked his eyes open and stared at him. He was propped against every pillow that Geralt had been able to find in the apartment, looking comfortable and just… Fuck. _Fuck._ Geralt had fallen for the idiot, hadn’t he? Fuck!

“I don’t know what that means,” Jaskier answered.

“She taught me how to talk a submissive through a scene, without actually touching them. We went through various options, a few scenes where I dominated using impact play, but it wasn’t something I could find pleasure in. So we finally settled on a system where I could talk my partner through the motions of touching and pleasuring themselves.”

For the first time since he had walked into Geralt’s life, it was Jaskier letting out a breathy, “Fuck.”

There was desire in his eyes, it was unmistakable. Geralt was unsure if he should move forward, though. Any farther and they would be moving to a place that they couldn’t come back from. “Jaskier—”

“ _Yes._ ”

“We shouldn’t.” 

“ _Please._ ” His grey eyes had darkened with arousal, and his hand was twitching a bit where it laid against his thigh.

“You want that? You want me to talk you through touching yourself, Jay?” He hadn’t shortened Jaskier’s name before, but the visible shudder through the other man told Geralt that it was well received. “Let me see,” he growled. “Show me how badly you want that.”

Jaskier was still favoring his left arm, where he’d been hit, but he barely showed that at all as he wiggled into more of a sitting position and shoved down the blanket. His cock was tenting the pair of sleep pants that he was wearing, and Geralt licked his lips as Jaskier pushed the pants down until they were resting just beneath his balls. There was a pearl of pre-come already glistening at the tip of his cock, and when he reached down to grasp himself, Geralt tsked. “Not yet. You don’t get to touch unless I say so.”

Geralt stood, moving across the room to the dresser. He opened the top drawer and pulled out a black box that was locked with a code. He opened it, aware that the lock was probably overkill, considering who owned the building. Inside was a stash of toys that he had bought but never used. The most expensive one in the collection was a vibrating stroker… a toy that looked like a typical vibrator, except for the end, where an almost fully formed circle would stroke along a cock. He had attempted it on himself, when he first bought it, and lasted exactly ten seconds before he threw the thing across the room and screamed out from the pain.

He brought the toy and a bottle of lubricant over to Jaskier. “This is going to be a test of restraint, understood.” Geralt climbed on the bed, sitting next to Jaskier’s feet, so that he had a good view. “The only one in control is you. The only one that will know when to pull the toy away is _you_. Now, do you want to be good for me?”

Jaskier’s hands were trembling a bit as he stared down at the toy. “Yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yes, _sir._ ”

“Good. Do you know the traffic light system?” The younger man blinked, met his gaze, and nodded. “I won’t know when enough is enough unless you tell me, Jay.”

Jaskier nodded once more. “Yes. Green, sir.”

“We’re going to start simple. I want you to bring yourself to the very edge — _twice._ If you can manage that, I will let you come.” Jaskier moaned and Geralt felt his own skin tingling. “Are you ready to begin?”

“Yes, sir. _Please._ ”


End file.
